Monthly Archives: January 2014

Spanking Sandra – a fragment

Angela examined Sandra’s bottom with a critical eye. The 20 strokes that she had given her crying girlfriend had resulted in a lovely blush; no single hand print stood out on Sandra’s naked bottom. Instead, the spanks blurred together into a uniform pink of near perfection.

“Up!” Angela said sharply, smacking her girlfriend’s bottom again. “Off to your corner, while I try to sort out the mess that you’ve made.”

Still sobbing, Sandra pushed herself off of Angela’s lap and bent to retrieve her skirt from the floor.

“Leave it,” Angela said, pointing Sandra to her corner. “You won’t need your skirt to think about how you’ve overspent your budget again.”


Angela’s glare cut Sandra off in mid-sentence. “Now,” Angela snapped, as she picked up their shared checkbook from the sofa cushion. “I can’t believe what a mess you’ve made of this!”

Sandra snuffled back a sob and hung her head. Her long, blonde hair obscured her pretty, blue eyes. “I’m so sorry,” Sandra said, dragging a toe across the carpet. She sniffed again. “Really. I don’t know how it happened!”

Shaking her head, Angela pointed once again at the corner across the room. “Go,” she said. “Now.”

Sandra walked slowly to the corner, and stood facing the familiar walls for what seemed like the better part of an hour. She sniffled. She sobbed. And she wanted desperately to rub her sore bottom, but Sandra knew that it would only infuriate her girlfriend. Sandra wasn’t allowed to touch her bottom after a sound spanking until Angela gave her permission.

The problem was that Sandra had no mind for numbers and no control when it came to spending money. The skirt that lay rumpled on the floor was the reason the young blonde had been spanked and was now standing in the corner. Short and plaid, the skirt was perfect for showing off Sandra’s her fine legs. She couldn’t resist the purchase, and it seemed such a bargain at only $200.

Sandra sniffed again. The burn in her bottom was finally beginning to fade, and she hoped that Angela would forgive her soon. The corner was becoming all too familiar, and Sandra was worried that someone could pass by and look through the window to see her naked bottom.

Finally, Angela broke her silence. “Sandra,” she said lowly.

The young blonde turned at her name. She had a properly penitent look on her face, though Sandra’s lips were quirked in a smile.

“Yes,” she said, hopefully.

That’s when Sandra saw the hairbrush in Angela’s hand. Fresh tears spilled over her cheeks when she realized what was about to happen.

“Do you want to tell me about the blouse you bought at Macy’s last weekend?”

A Reminder, my dears

I shouldn’t have to say the word out loud, let alone stencil it on my chest to get you to pay attention; but sometimes, my dear, you need a reminder.

Your ass belongs to me. No one else. You do what I say, wear what I tell you to wear. Come when I whistle, and then beg me for more.

When I come home, I expect you to be waiting at the door, head down and ready for whatever I’ve prepared.

I am your Mistress. You are mine. You belong to me.

You have one choice to make today: You may select your implement of punishment. Once you’ve done that, I want you to take off your clothes and lay across my lap.

Remember the count, my pet, lest we begin again.

Jacob’s Switching – a fragment

It’s been a couple of years since I posted this one, my dears, and I think many of you may have missed Jacob’s lesson the first time around. Enjoy the read, and let me know what you think.

“Come here,” she said. “I want to talk to you”

Jacob looked up quickly. He dared a glance at Mistress Jenna. Her tone wasn’t angry. Perhaps She was going to reward him! Jacob stood slowly and walked over to sit next to his Mistress on the couch.

“Do you remember what toppings you had on your pizza on Monday?”

Jacob was instantly wary. Something was up, and he knew this conversation would not end well for him. He decided to be evasive. “Um,” he said, keeping his head down and his eyes firmly on the pattern in the fabric of the sofa. “That was several days ago, Mistress. I don’t really remember.”

Mistress Jenna kept her tone low. “You told me that you went with Jill to the pizza place.” The Mistress’s voice was still neutral. “I’ve talked to Jill since then.” Mistress Jenna deliberately enunciated the next words slowly: “Jill doesn’t remember pizza, but says she thinks you may have gone to Eruptions instead.”

Jacob’s mouth went dry. He was caught, and he knew it. Eruptions was a strip club; he was not allowed there without permission from Mistress Jenna. “Um, oh that,” he began. “I, um, well I was really with Greg, and we were going to get pizza, but he wanted to stop at Eruptions first …”

“Really?” Mistress Jenna smiled wickedly and arched her eyebrows. “Greg, not Jill, and Eruptions not pizza?”

Jacob swallowed hard. He’d been caught – not in one lie, but two. His mind raced furiously, but nothing came to him.

After a few moments, Mistress Jenna grasped his chin and lifted Jacob’s face so that he had to look at her. He immediately looked away.

“Why did you lie?” she asked. There was no anger in her voice, but Jacob didn’t mistake those dulcet tones for approval.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I think you would have objected.”

Mistress Jenna took a firmer grip on Jacob’s chin. “You’re right. I would have objected. But if you had told me where you’d gone, instead of lying-” Mistress Jenna cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t have felt the need to do what I’m going to do today.”

“Mistress, please …” Jacob’s voice rose a notch.

“I’m not mad. But you do have a choice.” Mistress Jenna’s voice was still neutral. “I don’t tolerate lying. If you want to remain my pet, you must make amends.”

“Please, Mistress.” There were tears in Jacob’s eyes. “Anything. I’ll do anything. Please don’t send me away.”

Mistress Jenna smiled. “Before you promise, you should ask what I have in mind. I want you to make a well-informed decision.”


“If you want to stay with me, you’ll need a switching.”

“A switching?”

“Yes,” Mistress Jenna said. “A good switching, and I expect you to take it properly.”

Jacob kept his mouth shut as a fear raced through his head. A switching? Is it going to hurt? On my bare ass? How many strokes? What does she mean be properly? Can I handle it? What if switches me and still makes me leave?

Mistress Jenna stood up. “Have you decided?”

“Um. Please. Um.” Jacob stammered. “I want to stay with you. I want to be your pet!”

“So you’re saying that you’ll take a good switching?”

He nodded meekly.

“I want you to go out and cut three switches from the willow tree in my front yard.” Mistress Jenna pointed out the window. “If I’m not satisfied with the switches you cut, I’ll cut my own and double your punishment. Do you understand?”

Jacob bobbed his head up and down.

“Then you’re coming back in here, and you’ll remove your jeans and underwear.” Jacob’s eyes widened. “You’re going to bend over that chair, and you’ll take a switching until I’ve decided you’ve learned your lesson.”

Tomorrow’s Caning – a fragment

“I’m going to cane you tomorrow.” It was a simple statement, straight-forward and without undue emotion. She sits down beside me on the bed and gently rubs my bottom.

I open my eyes and stretch against her body, twisting until I am on her lap and able to look into her face. I wasn’t easy to get my body over her knees, and the wriggling that I’ve done to get into this position has left my pajamas in disarray; I am exposed from waist to mid-thigh. I am also still foggy with sleep, having just wakened at her touch upon my skin. I remember yet the glow of the evening before, when my bottom was bare and smacked hard. Even now, it feels well-spanked and rosy, a lovely blush that seems to spread across both cheeks, filling me with warmth.

I love looking up at her. Her dark eyes shuttered with long lashes, the curve of her lips in smile, the swell of her cheeks as looks down at me: these things give me peace and contentment. Yet her words seem to hang in the room. But it’s more than just the words – not just the sounds they make as the break through my morning haze. It’s the way she said them.

The words were simple and casual, as though she was announcing a lunch partner, or a trip to the mall.

But that’s not what she said. Rather, it was a pronouncement of a caning.


I knew better than to think otherwise. When she said that something would happen, that’s exactly what she meant. No hesitation. No forgotten plans. Tomorrow, I would be caned.

The fog cleared as questions took their place. Which cane would she choose? Would it be the long one, she had inherited from her father, or the rattan she’d recently purchased? How many strokes? How much would it hurt? Would I have to count aloud? Would I be over her knee, or over her desk? Would she cane me before breakfast? Before sleep? How much would it hurt? How much would it hurt? How much would it hurt?

I want to ask her these questions – all these and more. I want the answers to my fears, but realize my greatest fear is that I won’t be brave enough for the caning. That what I fear most of all, because I know that she’s doing this for me.

And yet, I see in her dark eyes, as the lashes flutter to hide and then reveal, that she knows my fears; knows each and every one of them. All of my fears and more. She will gather me and my questions to her breasts, and hold on tight. I’m safe with her. I know this. My questions fade away one by one, as I realize that she’ll never let anything bad happen to me. And knowing that answers all of my questions.

“All right,” I reply. My voice is soft, and I’m not sure I actually say the words.

She licks her lips and smiles down at me. I know that she’s heard me.

I roll over in her lap and close my eyes as she rubs my bottom again.

I shiver with the anticipation of tomorrow.

Belle’s Fiery Strokes – a fragment

“Eight?” Belle blanched and stood ramrod straight, her hand by her sides and her eyes wide with fear. Belle clenched her hands into tiny fists, gripping her dress tightly. “But sir!”

Mr. Jenkins shook his head. “You heard what I said, Ms. Laurel. Bend over my desk, or I’ll make it ten.”

Belle opened her mouth to protest again. It wasn’t fair! She was only fifteen minutes late! Yet before she could speak, Mr. Jenkins pointed at the surface of his desk. It had already been cleaned off, ready for the young woman to assume the position. The anger in Mr. Jenkins’ eyes was plain; delay meant extra strokes.

Bending at the waist and reaching for the far edge of the desk, Belle folded herself across her boss’s desk. She trembled when she felt Mr. Jenkins’ hands touch her bottom long enough to lift her skirt high, and she squeaked when her boss tucked her skirt into her waistband.

“Remain still,” he said, jerking her panties rudely to her knees.

Belle closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the rush of air cooling her thighs and bottom. Behind her, Belle heard a door creak, and she knew that Mr. Jenkins had selected a cane from wooden cabinet on the far wall.

Belle held her breath. She tried not to clench her bottom cheeks, but found her instincts overriding good sense.

After than, the strokes fell quickly, lines of fire that made Belle want to scream. She gasped at each impact and struggled to hold onto the edge of the desk. Belle knew that if she stood, she would an get extra stroke. So the young woman clenched her teeth against the fire as her tears streaked her cheeks.

She took the first four strokes with barely a sound. Yet the fifth impact broke her silence, and Belle howled as the cane cracked across her bare behind.

With three strokes to go, Belle fought to remain in position.